What was that comic, Family Circus...? That's where I work, smack dab in the middle of this family's circus.
I made a critical error the other day, that is either going really benefit me and the rest of the non-family members or go the in the complete opposite direction.
Wifey was inquiring to me about the progress of some of our current projects, and I obliged her by telling her that this particular project had been completely stalled now for quite some time waiting on selections from the homeowner. Mostly the fault of daddy dearest, who makes an art form of ball dropping and buck passing. She happened to pass my report onto her father-in-law, who in tern passed by my doorway saying that he was off to this job since I had told her that "nobody was doing anything."
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
Are you getting server?
Are you getting served, we are. One of our clients has served us with papers for some sort of lawsuit. I was informed upon my return from lunch that I was to get our paperwork in order. Good thing I didn't eat lunch, lawsuits always spoil my digestion. I was having a pretty good day. I guess my boss was too, because this morning he was in early, ten-ish, and actually was making conversation with me and told me why he and his sweetie were M.I.A. to the living world yesterday (hung over, did I have to even say it by now?). That was before they served him the papers when he was home relaxing today.
This beast woman who is attempting to sue us is a real piece of work. Five foot five, probably pushing two hundred pounds, bleach blond hair and always wearing no make up except that black liquid eye liner - (that normal women wear on their upper lids) thick black eye liner under her eyes, like a real hooker or eighties skeezer. Despite her disturbing appearance, she's a dentist. One time she came to the office to pick up some samples and was making polite conversation with the boss' dad and I in the hallway when her bridge, that went clear across her six upper front teeth, fell right out of her mouth. She actually caught it in her hand about half way to the floor, must happen a lot. I wonder who did her work.
My boss made many unnecessary consolations to these people in building their home. None of which were appreciated or recognized when it came to the end of the job. People always forget all the extras, they always remember the extra costs. The work has been completed but we cannot agree upon the how much money the homeowners owe because they are getting back a credit when the loan closes towards things they paid for themselves. It's really complicated and going this route, to court, is going to make my life a living hell - like it isn't all ready. I have notebooks on top of notebooks overflowing with paperwork pertaining to these people's home contract and estimates and bills and changes, it just goes on and on.
Change order is like a dirty word in construction. In a perfect world, when the customer tells you they would like a change from their plans, you would stop what you are doing, estimate the cost, present it to the customer for them to make their decision. Most of the time that never happens and all of the time it never happens in that order. These guys have a thing about stopping what they are doing, something about forward momentum I guess. Or maybe it means they would have to communicate or reschedule or do one extra iota of effort. Here's the way it goes down in reality, customer says 'oh, I'd love a giant chandelier in the foyer...', contractor says 'okay.' Then the contractor, who takes this as consent, proceeds to make all the arrangements to accommodate the giant chandelier, increasing the structural framing, supplying the electric, the electricians who will need to rent a lift to hoist said giant chandelier, the cost of the chandelier itself of course and all it's trimmings. Then the customer who does love the giant chandelier gets a giant bill from the contractor for ten thousand dollars. When the customer turns around and says 'I had no idea it would be that much, I don't agree to pay that!' What is the contractor's recourse? Take away the chandelier, un-do the framing and electric at more cost to himself? Unless you like to eat giant chandeliers or give them a really nice house warming gift it would probably pay off to STOP, but I don't want to tell anyone what to do, I'm bossy enough.
I think I was out to lunch when this story began. My husband made the most beautiful wreath out of some vines he had been trimming along the fence. He really surprises me sometimes. I went out to the local crap store to get some sparklies and ribbons to decorate the wreath. By crap store I mean one of those big chain discount stores that you always think you're getting a really good deal, until you get the item home and it completely self-destructs or was totally misrepresented in the packaging. Example; I bought ribbon that said it was sixty feet - I will probably get it home and there will be three. It was mobbed in there with Christmas shoppers. Same thing at the craft store I went to the other day, there are already long lines, I had to wait at least ten minutes today! My husband is going to go into fits when he finds out I spend forty dollars on decorations for his free wreath.
Back to work on my documents. I always thought I should have been a lawyer myself, just a few too many years of school and not quite enough ambition. Plus who wants to go to court...ever?
This beast woman who is attempting to sue us is a real piece of work. Five foot five, probably pushing two hundred pounds, bleach blond hair and always wearing no make up except that black liquid eye liner - (that normal women wear on their upper lids) thick black eye liner under her eyes, like a real hooker or eighties skeezer. Despite her disturbing appearance, she's a dentist. One time she came to the office to pick up some samples and was making polite conversation with the boss' dad and I in the hallway when her bridge, that went clear across her six upper front teeth, fell right out of her mouth. She actually caught it in her hand about half way to the floor, must happen a lot. I wonder who did her work.
My boss made many unnecessary consolations to these people in building their home. None of which were appreciated or recognized when it came to the end of the job. People always forget all the extras, they always remember the extra costs. The work has been completed but we cannot agree upon the how much money the homeowners owe because they are getting back a credit when the loan closes towards things they paid for themselves. It's really complicated and going this route, to court, is going to make my life a living hell - like it isn't all ready. I have notebooks on top of notebooks overflowing with paperwork pertaining to these people's home contract and estimates and bills and changes, it just goes on and on.
Change order is like a dirty word in construction. In a perfect world, when the customer tells you they would like a change from their plans, you would stop what you are doing, estimate the cost, present it to the customer for them to make their decision. Most of the time that never happens and all of the time it never happens in that order. These guys have a thing about stopping what they are doing, something about forward momentum I guess. Or maybe it means they would have to communicate or reschedule or do one extra iota of effort. Here's the way it goes down in reality, customer says 'oh, I'd love a giant chandelier in the foyer...', contractor says 'okay.' Then the contractor, who takes this as consent, proceeds to make all the arrangements to accommodate the giant chandelier, increasing the structural framing, supplying the electric, the electricians who will need to rent a lift to hoist said giant chandelier, the cost of the chandelier itself of course and all it's trimmings. Then the customer who does love the giant chandelier gets a giant bill from the contractor for ten thousand dollars. When the customer turns around and says 'I had no idea it would be that much, I don't agree to pay that!' What is the contractor's recourse? Take away the chandelier, un-do the framing and electric at more cost to himself? Unless you like to eat giant chandeliers or give them a really nice house warming gift it would probably pay off to STOP, but I don't want to tell anyone what to do, I'm bossy enough.
I think I was out to lunch when this story began. My husband made the most beautiful wreath out of some vines he had been trimming along the fence. He really surprises me sometimes. I went out to the local crap store to get some sparklies and ribbons to decorate the wreath. By crap store I mean one of those big chain discount stores that you always think you're getting a really good deal, until you get the item home and it completely self-destructs or was totally misrepresented in the packaging. Example; I bought ribbon that said it was sixty feet - I will probably get it home and there will be three. It was mobbed in there with Christmas shoppers. Same thing at the craft store I went to the other day, there are already long lines, I had to wait at least ten minutes today! My husband is going to go into fits when he finds out I spend forty dollars on decorations for his free wreath.
Back to work on my documents. I always thought I should have been a lawyer myself, just a few too many years of school and not quite enough ambition. Plus who wants to go to court...ever?
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Just shoot me.
The boss' wife has been on board now for a few months. I've witnessed my share of family ass chewings. Having worked with my own husband for several years before we were married, I know what it looks like when a husband and wife have been arguing all morning and get to work and she tries to pretend everything is fine, wiping rampant tears away between conversations, and he nips off the head of every other unsuspecting man, woman or child in his path - and in my case barking orders all the way! Tension has been high in the office between them, projecting onto me, I would say us, I'm not the only one that works here - really, but I am the only one here all the time. Kind of a stationary whipping post, while the guys are off driving around all day.
We had to plan a trip to Arkansas to close up the house for the winter. It was pretty time sensitive, seeing as my mother-in-law is moving a thousand miles away November 1st and is the only one we trust (or have enough money to pay) to watch the farm and all the animals for us. I requested to the boss, and his dad, the personnel manager, to take three days off - that I have accumulated as personal time since I haven't called out sick this year. I submitted in writing and never heard back. I sent another request, this time stating my flexibility on the dates, that I would switch weekends, whatever worked best for them. It works best for them if I do not take off. I should have known that to begin with. So this is where the proverbial poo does you know what.
The boss was running around, as usual, no time is ever a good time, and I stopped him and explained my situation, his response was 'you don't need to go there to do that.' End of conversation.
Okay, like I said before I am flexible. Ray drove up and took a buddy of his, he got things in order, I hope. But I haven't gotten over it.
Probably while he was out of town and I was shouldering the responsibility of all the animals, the mother-in-law and the farm, I may have lost my patience.
The two 'others' (non-family members) that work here are always asking me what they get for time off and I refer them to dad, who gives everyone a different answer. One of my first duties, assigned by the boss himself, was to collaborate with 'The mom' on our employee manual, that his wife had lifted from her corporate banking job. Painstakingly, believe me, we went over the manual and made the changes we thought were applicable. I signed the back sheet and gave it to dad for his 'files' and kept a copy for myself. Only now, after I requested days off, am I hearing that we don't have a policy, we are not going by the manual, surprise! So how many days off am I entitled to? Here is my correspondence with the H.R. manager, names removed to protect my precious job;
Sent by me;
"**** mentioned something about needing a certain day off. Can we get in the practice of posting these on our calendars in outlook so that everyone is aware? Also, I refer the supers to 'dad' regarding time off, and I keep track of my own time, but I do not know if/who or how we are tracking this. What is our policy? 'Mom' and I made an employee manual in March ’06 (on ***** server in office folder), but I cannot tell if we are following policy in it or not."
Dad's response;
"Yes, **** did mention wanting a day off. He said he would confirm and I will post. I am keeping track of days off. We did copy the *** manual in March, but never issued it as policy. wife, boss and I are reviewing as there are some items that we need agree on. Currently vacation is 2 weeks after the first year of service. After the first year of service, accrued vacation days may be used prior to the completion of the year."
Me;
"And sick/personal days? I don’t see that someone should be penalized if they don’t get/call out sick?"
Dad;
"That is one of the items we are looking at."
Me;
That's the last I heard, ever.
We had to plan a trip to Arkansas to close up the house for the winter. It was pretty time sensitive, seeing as my mother-in-law is moving a thousand miles away November 1st and is the only one we trust (or have enough money to pay) to watch the farm and all the animals for us. I requested to the boss, and his dad, the personnel manager, to take three days off - that I have accumulated as personal time since I haven't called out sick this year. I submitted in writing and never heard back. I sent another request, this time stating my flexibility on the dates, that I would switch weekends, whatever worked best for them. It works best for them if I do not take off. I should have known that to begin with. So this is where the proverbial poo does you know what.
The boss was running around, as usual, no time is ever a good time, and I stopped him and explained my situation, his response was 'you don't need to go there to do that.' End of conversation.
Okay, like I said before I am flexible. Ray drove up and took a buddy of his, he got things in order, I hope. But I haven't gotten over it.
Probably while he was out of town and I was shouldering the responsibility of all the animals, the mother-in-law and the farm, I may have lost my patience.
The two 'others' (non-family members) that work here are always asking me what they get for time off and I refer them to dad, who gives everyone a different answer. One of my first duties, assigned by the boss himself, was to collaborate with 'The mom' on our employee manual, that his wife had lifted from her corporate banking job. Painstakingly, believe me, we went over the manual and made the changes we thought were applicable. I signed the back sheet and gave it to dad for his 'files' and kept a copy for myself. Only now, after I requested days off, am I hearing that we don't have a policy, we are not going by the manual, surprise! So how many days off am I entitled to? Here is my correspondence with the H.R. manager, names removed to protect my precious job;
Sent by me;
"**** mentioned something about needing a certain day off. Can we get in the practice of posting these on our calendars in outlook so that everyone is aware? Also, I refer the supers to 'dad' regarding time off, and I keep track of my own time, but I do not know if/who or how we are tracking this. What is our policy? 'Mom' and I made an employee manual in March ’06 (on ***** server in office folder), but I cannot tell if we are following policy in it or not."
Dad's response;
"Yes, **** did mention wanting a day off. He said he would confirm and I will post. I am keeping track of days off. We did copy the *** manual in March, but never issued it as policy. wife, boss and I are reviewing as there are some items that we need agree on. Currently vacation is 2 weeks after the first year of service. After the first year of service, accrued vacation days may be used prior to the completion of the year."
Me;
"And sick/personal days? I don’t see that someone should be penalized if they don’t get/call out sick?"
Dad;
"That is one of the items we are looking at."
Me;
That's the last I heard, ever.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Laise le bon temps roule!
A favorite motto that I have tried to embody in my every day life. A lot easier when you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn to drag yourself out of bed, put on your best clothes, commute thirty minutes to to be pushed around by people not worth your time, closed up in the four walls of your office for the next nine hours, breaking only briefly to insert your next Starbucks fix so that you can make it to the end of the day without giving yourself a concussion from your head hitting the desk from utter boredom. But I guess that's why they call it the grind, right? Because you drink coffee all day? No?
Looking back, my melancholy over my current employment status is completely understandable. Although this is by far the best paying job I have ever landed, it is by no means the best. One of the best was probably working at the racetrack.
I was in college when I applied for a job at the racetrack, which had just opened the new slot machine section, as a change cart attendant. The personnel office called and asked me if I'd be open to a different position, selling betting tickets for the horse racing. I'd never been to the races or bet on a horse, of course I had also never used a slot machine, so there was no difference to me.
Punching tickets was an interesting experience. You meet all kinds of people, literally. In my line I might wait on a homeless man who scraped together enough money for a beer and a sure thing show ticket, followed by the millionaire owner of the very horse upon which the homeless man was wagering. There is an amazing blend of camaraderie and competition among gamblers, and probably the same can be said for horse trainers too.
I worked at the ticket window all throughout college. I met mobsters and crooks, politicians and business men, and I developed a taste for the action myself. The tellers were a special group, completely separate from the 'slot' people in every way. A lot of us who worked a night shift once in a while would wind up partying together, often resulting in all night/next day trips to our favorite gambling, partying continuation, Atlantic City. We'd stay all night (morning) until either whoever drove made a big score they wanted to hang onto or most likely they lost their money and got crabby and wanted to leave.
I met a man, Super Joe, we'll call him, who was a professional gambler. He was a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with and was always up for any kind of adventure. Super, as he was often referred to, had been 'ruled off' most race tracks in the tri-state area, except the one I worked at. Ruled off is when the racing commission, the governing authority over racing, bars you from entering the grounds. Super had been ruled off for drugging horses, I didn't really know this when I met him. Thru Super I started working in the mornings for a trainer friend of his, Greg, 'walking hots'. This is when the horses come back from their daily exercise on the racetrack, they typically get a bath and then get walked for a half hour to cool them down and lower their heart rate. Seeing how I had just lost a bunch of weight by visiting Super Joe's diet doctor in New Jersey, I was really into the hot walking because I was getting a little exercise and best of all learning about the horses. Paul was a great trainer. Very knowledgeable in every aspect. He was always helpful in teaching me things and recognized right away my intelligence and eagerness to learn.
Greg went out of town for a while and left Super and a friend of his in charge of the horses. While he was gone I realized that Super had been slipping in the stalls before a race and drugging the horses (with who knows what). Poor Greg had a family to support and was doing his best at running his business and could have gotten in a lot of trouble, even ruled off himself, so I did the worst thing imaginable to Super, I ratted him out to Greg. This immediately terminated any semblance of a friendship that ever existed, but it got me in good with Greg.
Working for Greg he gave me a horse to walk that had injured his eye and was on stall rest, P.D. (I had to shorten his racing name Precise Direction - I can't believe I still remember that horse's name ten years later!). P.D. needed lots of time out of the stall, so he was a kind of a project for me. I will never forget, P.D. had a Guatemalan groom at the time. For some reason the groom couldn't understand why P.D. (I pronounced Petey) would kick at him when he was working on his blind side, hmm. Well, after a while I got really attached to P.D. and one day I caught the groom kicking him in the belly. I immediately started screaming at him. He got in my face right back, all I could do was pick up a pitch fork and start to chase him. I guess this began my endeavor to become a horse trainer.
After I ran off Paul's Guatemalan, I felt obligated to stay and work harder and learn more than ever. He taught me how to be a good groom and how to feed horses. From what I could tell, racing horses was no brain surgery. I stuck with it. When college ended for the summer I would work both behind the scenes in the morning with the horses, then go and work at the ticket window selling wagers for the races.
Eventually I met my husband, unbeknownst to me, another horse trainer, when I started working for him. And he taught me even more about horses. When I decided to go down South for the winter to his farm I learn about mares and breeding and babies.
Things were slow for my husband and I throughout the winter, so I took a job at a large local horse show. I lasted a whole two weeks working for a top notch hunter/jumper training barn from upstate New York. If what I learned about horses I learned from living with horses, what I learned about girls and horses, I learned in the two weeks I worked for them. Imagine if you will, an all female team of trainers, riders and grooms, all catering to the whims of their multi-millionaire clients and their triple figure sales tag horses.
Probably the thing that took me by surprise most was their blatant disregard for common safety practices. Safety has always been first with me and working around horses, driven by fear. Having little to no contact with horses in my youth, I was very intimidated by their size and strength, it took me a very long time to develop the skills to work around them safely and comfortably. The girls that attended these magnificent beasts were careless about their own safety, often doing things that I would never attempt, leading two horses at once, walking behind them.
Whoa, flash forward to present time: side note, I just called my boss to let him know that a very important potential customer had called to schedule a meeting at 8:15 am tomorrow and his response was "Christ! I'm drinking tonight. I already started." It's 3:30. The same thing happened the last time he was supposed to meet them, he had a large time the night before and wouldn't answer my calls the next day when I was trying to prompt him to get to his meeting. I had to call the client, who was already on the site and explain that he was 'sick' at the last minute and couldn't make it.
Looking back, my melancholy over my current employment status is completely understandable. Although this is by far the best paying job I have ever landed, it is by no means the best. One of the best was probably working at the racetrack.
I was in college when I applied for a job at the racetrack, which had just opened the new slot machine section, as a change cart attendant. The personnel office called and asked me if I'd be open to a different position, selling betting tickets for the horse racing. I'd never been to the races or bet on a horse, of course I had also never used a slot machine, so there was no difference to me.
Punching tickets was an interesting experience. You meet all kinds of people, literally. In my line I might wait on a homeless man who scraped together enough money for a beer and a sure thing show ticket, followed by the millionaire owner of the very horse upon which the homeless man was wagering. There is an amazing blend of camaraderie and competition among gamblers, and probably the same can be said for horse trainers too.
I worked at the ticket window all throughout college. I met mobsters and crooks, politicians and business men, and I developed a taste for the action myself. The tellers were a special group, completely separate from the 'slot' people in every way. A lot of us who worked a night shift once in a while would wind up partying together, often resulting in all night/next day trips to our favorite gambling, partying continuation, Atlantic City. We'd stay all night (morning) until either whoever drove made a big score they wanted to hang onto or most likely they lost their money and got crabby and wanted to leave.
I met a man, Super Joe, we'll call him, who was a professional gambler. He was a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with and was always up for any kind of adventure. Super, as he was often referred to, had been 'ruled off' most race tracks in the tri-state area, except the one I worked at. Ruled off is when the racing commission, the governing authority over racing, bars you from entering the grounds. Super had been ruled off for drugging horses, I didn't really know this when I met him. Thru Super I started working in the mornings for a trainer friend of his, Greg, 'walking hots'. This is when the horses come back from their daily exercise on the racetrack, they typically get a bath and then get walked for a half hour to cool them down and lower their heart rate. Seeing how I had just lost a bunch of weight by visiting Super Joe's diet doctor in New Jersey, I was really into the hot walking because I was getting a little exercise and best of all learning about the horses. Paul was a great trainer. Very knowledgeable in every aspect. He was always helpful in teaching me things and recognized right away my intelligence and eagerness to learn.
Greg went out of town for a while and left Super and a friend of his in charge of the horses. While he was gone I realized that Super had been slipping in the stalls before a race and drugging the horses (with who knows what). Poor Greg had a family to support and was doing his best at running his business and could have gotten in a lot of trouble, even ruled off himself, so I did the worst thing imaginable to Super, I ratted him out to Greg. This immediately terminated any semblance of a friendship that ever existed, but it got me in good with Greg.
Working for Greg he gave me a horse to walk that had injured his eye and was on stall rest, P.D. (I had to shorten his racing name Precise Direction - I can't believe I still remember that horse's name ten years later!). P.D. needed lots of time out of the stall, so he was a kind of a project for me. I will never forget, P.D. had a Guatemalan groom at the time. For some reason the groom couldn't understand why P.D. (I pronounced Petey) would kick at him when he was working on his blind side, hmm. Well, after a while I got really attached to P.D. and one day I caught the groom kicking him in the belly. I immediately started screaming at him. He got in my face right back, all I could do was pick up a pitch fork and start to chase him. I guess this began my endeavor to become a horse trainer.
After I ran off Paul's Guatemalan, I felt obligated to stay and work harder and learn more than ever. He taught me how to be a good groom and how to feed horses. From what I could tell, racing horses was no brain surgery. I stuck with it. When college ended for the summer I would work both behind the scenes in the morning with the horses, then go and work at the ticket window selling wagers for the races.
Eventually I met my husband, unbeknownst to me, another horse trainer, when I started working for him. And he taught me even more about horses. When I decided to go down South for the winter to his farm I learn about mares and breeding and babies.
Things were slow for my husband and I throughout the winter, so I took a job at a large local horse show. I lasted a whole two weeks working for a top notch hunter/jumper training barn from upstate New York. If what I learned about horses I learned from living with horses, what I learned about girls and horses, I learned in the two weeks I worked for them. Imagine if you will, an all female team of trainers, riders and grooms, all catering to the whims of their multi-millionaire clients and their triple figure sales tag horses.
Probably the thing that took me by surprise most was their blatant disregard for common safety practices. Safety has always been first with me and working around horses, driven by fear. Having little to no contact with horses in my youth, I was very intimidated by their size and strength, it took me a very long time to develop the skills to work around them safely and comfortably. The girls that attended these magnificent beasts were careless about their own safety, often doing things that I would never attempt, leading two horses at once, walking behind them.
Whoa, flash forward to present time: side note, I just called my boss to let him know that a very important potential customer had called to schedule a meeting at 8:15 am tomorrow and his response was "Christ! I'm drinking tonight. I already started." It's 3:30. The same thing happened the last time he was supposed to meet them, he had a large time the night before and wouldn't answer my calls the next day when I was trying to prompt him to get to his meeting. I had to call the client, who was already on the site and explain that he was 'sick' at the last minute and couldn't make it.
Living in fast forward.
I'll keep this brief because it is depressing, but I don't want you skeptics out there to think I am completely without emotion. Sometimes it feels like we're all living in fast forward. And the button's broke on the remote control. Before I even knew what happened, I quit the Girl scouts, was out of high school, out of college, getting married, now I'm waiting for my parents to retire, and it's all a blur, pock marked by the highs and lows of love and loss.
This year finds us at some of our most difficult times, I have to be glad it's almost over. My husband and I struggled thru the illness and death of my father in law. We're living with a mortgage for a house we can't move to. My mother-in-law is leaving the farm and abandoning us to convert to condo living (I can't blame her, sometimes I feel like the farm can be overwhelming too). I've had a turbulent year at work thus far, my boss and I speak in terms of 'making it to the end of the year.' ( - no one else knows that but he and I). Myself, my loved ones, my pets, we're all one year older, which makes me sad knowing the years are ticking by and we all have to work so hard just to survive that we never have enough time or money to be able to spend the time together we'd all like to.
Before you know it.
But time has not been wasted, nor have I allowed it to slither thru my fingers without taking a way a few valuable lessons.
*I learned what a reward it is to be able to comfort your spouse and make them feel, really feel your love and support.
*I can keep a level head thru a crisis (I kind of always suspected).
*We, as husband and wife, have to be there for each other.
*As horrifying and awkward as this may come out, it is a beautiful experience for a family member to die amongst their loved ones. To be able to say, "I was there for him," and know that you truly were to the very end, to ignore your pain to comfort someone else.
*And, I have suspected this for a year or so, but I am getting old(er).
This year finds us at some of our most difficult times, I have to be glad it's almost over. My husband and I struggled thru the illness and death of my father in law. We're living with a mortgage for a house we can't move to. My mother-in-law is leaving the farm and abandoning us to convert to condo living (I can't blame her, sometimes I feel like the farm can be overwhelming too). I've had a turbulent year at work thus far, my boss and I speak in terms of 'making it to the end of the year.' ( - no one else knows that but he and I). Myself, my loved ones, my pets, we're all one year older, which makes me sad knowing the years are ticking by and we all have to work so hard just to survive that we never have enough time or money to be able to spend the time together we'd all like to.
Before you know it.
But time has not been wasted, nor have I allowed it to slither thru my fingers without taking a way a few valuable lessons.
*I learned what a reward it is to be able to comfort your spouse and make them feel, really feel your love and support.
*I can keep a level head thru a crisis (I kind of always suspected).
*We, as husband and wife, have to be there for each other.
*As horrifying and awkward as this may come out, it is a beautiful experience for a family member to die amongst their loved ones. To be able to say, "I was there for him," and know that you truly were to the very end, to ignore your pain to comfort someone else.
*And, I have suspected this for a year or so, but I am getting old(er).
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Just plain happy to have a NEW year.
By now, Christmas has come and gone and we've got a good start into the New Year. Frankly, last year wasn't SO hot, and I'm happy to have a new one.
My husband went full force with Christmas spirit this year. He has never, in the seven years we've been cohabitating, contributed at all to getting ready for the holidays. This year he actually assembled the Christmas tree and put the lights on - one small step for man, one giant step for his wife. I don't mean to complain, he always gets me one gift, last year a vacuum, the year before a stepper, but this year he got me two presents and was really excited about giving them to me. I'm not sure what's gotten into him, but I think it's mostly to do with the new house.
Ray's dad was admitted to the hospital the Friday before Christmas for emergency surgery and it was touch and go as to whether he would not only make Christmas, but then whether he would make it home for Christmas. The hospital released him just in time for Christmas eve dinner and I brought over my rendition of the seven fishes (my in-laws are Italian - very Italian), which was actually just one fish dish and some shrimp - he loves my shrimp scampi. I had supplied them with a small decorated tree and while they were out I slipped their presents underneath. Christmas day Ray and I opened presents then went back to his parents' for an early dinner that we brought over - a Honey Baked ham one of my wonderful, thoughtful aunts sent me as a gift (it was really good by the way). His mother seemed, how do I put this, miserable, but that's understandable, she had her heart set on seeing their relatives in New York for Christmas like she does every year - not to mention the stress of both of their failing health. We tried to make it as nice for them as we could, I hope they enjoyed it.
This is our first home we purchased together. When we met, I just moved in with him, and luckily or not, depending who and when you ask them, he did buy the cow after having the milk for free all those years. I got an e-mail on December 31st from the realtor who sold us the house saying that the people would be all moved out this week. As of Tuesday, it is officially unoccupied and awaiting our arrival. I got the electricity transferred over and the realtor said she would go by and make sure everything was all closed up and set the thermostat so the pipes won't freeze. We can't wait to get there. More than that I can't wait to sell the land Ray owns here in Florida. With the housing market dropping off like it is, I'm a little worried about being able to sell it in a timely manner. Hopefully the fact that it is vacant land will work in our favor. After what went on last weekend with our neighbors where we live, I am putting my foot down and we are listing the land this week, period. I don't know why Ray has been procrastinating putting it on the market, I don't even think he knows why. We've been closed on the Arkansas house for almost a month now, time's a wastin'!
Ray and I met at Delaware Park (race track) one morning. He needed some help with his horses and I just so happened to be on the in-betweens, in more ways than one. I was in between jobs, in between places to live and in between relationships - lucky for him. I started working for him, hanging out with him, then eventually but not long after, started living with him too. I came to Ocala, Florida on December 31st of 1999. Very memorable for me because I grew up listening to Prince sing about 1999 like it was never going to happen and here I was starting life all over again a thousand miles away from everyone and everything I ever knew. When I got here I couldn't believe my eyes. I had spent a considerable amount of time in South Florida with a previous boyfriend, that's a whole other adventure, but Ocala was like nothing I'd ever seen before. As a girl who grew up in the burbs, only dreaming of ever having a pony I was landed smack in the middle of horse paradise. Ocala, filled with grandfather oak trees, draped in Spanish moss with one pony cuter than the last around every corner. I guess the best way I can describe it around here is that everyone has a horse in their back yard. All different breeds and disciplines. Well, with all those cute horses come a lot of crazy people.
We race horses. We breed them, break them and take them to the track to race, then if they're lucky (or nobody else wants them) we bring them home to retire. Over the seven years we have been doing business together we've gone thru at least forty different horses. Some are owned by other people that just send them to us to train and race, then when they need to, we send them back home. I've worked for lots of different trainers on the track and off and learned different methods of caring for the same animals from each of them. I've consigned horses, trained race horses, bred horses, trained them to jump and even worked in equine nutrition for about two years exclusively. Ray has been working on the racetrack since he was about sixteen. He rides and trains and now is primarily a farrier (shoer) - and a very good one, he has been recommended to people by our old veterinarian who is familiar with his work - and that says a lot. Ray and I have one mare that he bought just before he met me and we agree that her babies are his and mine together. We only breed one horse every two years and since I've known Ray he nor I have ever bought a horse. Someone did give me a horse one time, which leads me into what I've been trying to get to...
We live on about fourteen acres, there are two homes on the land, one for Ray's parents and ours, as well as a barn and a shop, etc. It's not a small understatement to say that it's nothing fancy, but it's home. My horses all have shelter and fencing and (knock on wood), we haven't killed one yet. For those people that don't know horses, they aren't the easiest keepers - or cheap either. They can come down with all kinds of ailments and injuries and have to be put down, i.e. a fellow we all know as Barbaro narrowly escaped one of those in 2006.
Ok, this being said, several years ago a client of ours sent us a champion stakes horses to our farm to recuperate from some injuries he sustained at the track. Groomstick. I'll never forget the day he got off the van. Groomstick was kind of a legend for us, another client of ours bred him, my best friend Jackie broke him and he had been around us when he was young, but never really had any interaction with him ourselves. Groomstick also has a Cinderella story that goes something like this... He was a really ugly yearling with a funny hump in his back, got shipped back and forth from sale to sale until they finally dumped him for five thousand bucks. A trainer took him to the track and it's all history from there, he made his way up the claiming ranks and won several big stake races all over the country, bringing his lifetime earnings to somewhere around half a million, not to mention he set a couple of track records. So, when he got to our house I had really been anticipating his arrival. The driver pulled up and let down the ramp, unhooked him from the tie chain and led him off the trailer and I actually had to ask him 'are you sure this is him?'. I couldn't believe that a horse that won so many races and made so much money was so little to look at. He was tall and lanky, and still had that funny hump in his back but when he looked at me with those big brown eyes I just melted. Groomstick was sound when he got off the trailer, but two weeks later the nerve block in his foot and ankle wore off and to see him walk you would have thought he had a broken leg (which he probably did have several fragments in his ankles, both of them). See horse trainers, and mark my words here, this is important, some horse trainers will inject a horse with all kinds of things to numb their pain in order to squeeze a little more performance out of them before giving them time off to recuperate - and this goes for ALL breeds and disciplines, not just racing. There are a lot of stigmas about race horses and the way they are treated and I just want people to understand that it's not the sport, it's the people. We don't believe in all that. If a horse is sore, we have a farm, so we send it home to rest up. Nothing heals injuries like time. So we went the whole winter watching Groomstick, worrying over him, wondering if he was going to be okay - to live, not even to race. This particular year I had just lost my soul mate, best friend, the only horse I ever wanted to be around in a claiming race and Groomstick was filling a little void in my heart - so I was really pulling for him. I would go out every day, two or three times a day and treat and bandage him appropriately and enjoyed every minute taking care of him because he was just so lovable. He liked his ears scratched just like the horse I had lost.
They say time heals all wounds, and for the most part I agree, but all the time in the world wouldn't get Groomstick back to the races. Two years went by and Groomstick (or G. as we now refer to him) was still at the farm. He sounded up some, enough that he wasn't living in discomfort any more and his owner called to have the vet out to take x-rays and decide whether or not he would ever get back to the races. The veterinarian deemed that he would never make the races because of his limited range of motion which was due to the calcification in his joints - from the racetrack trainer 'tapping' and injecting him so frequently. In laymen's terms his ankle joints were all dried up and the chips that were in his ankles had grown into more bone. Groomstick's owner was looking to get out of the horse business and told us to 'donate' him to a thoroughbred rescue, so that's how I wound up with him. Really, you could say that he was my first horse, the first one that I could put my name on the registration papers. I guess another two years went by and Groomstick was still around. We used him to wean the babies from their mothers, he was a great babysitter.
Living on fourteen acres, we don't have a lot of neighbors. When I moved in, Miss Madeline and her (teenage slut) daughter Lindsay were living next door. Miss Madeline, Lindsay and Ray were all friends or at very least friendly, but Madeline had been hashing out a divorce settlement with her ex and had to sell the farm. It went downhill from there. A guy bought the farm and sold it another two years later to Gillian, our neighbor now. From what I know of Gillian, she moved to Ocala from Tampa. She had a ten or twelve stall barn built on her ten acres (ten acres is not enough room for ten horses) before she moved in and when she did she brought her two horses with her. The first year was okay, her horses got loose and onto our property and we helped her catch them a couple of times, no big deal. We share a fence line - her fence, but we both have horses on our respective sides, so you can't take the fence down or neither of us would be able to use the space. Gillian is thirty eight, a lesbian and to my knowledge has no friends except for the people that she pays to do labor around her farm. FYI, I have no problem with lesbians, one of my very best friends is a huge one. I guess Gillian's been living next door for about two years now. When she first came I was very excited that a woman close to my age who was interested in horses had moved in, until I started to get to know her. Gillian, or Gilligan as we now refer to her is kind of a needy person to be living on such a big piece of property all by herself, especially since she seems to have assumed that we are the farm hands that came with the property. Maybe working in the horse business has toughened me up, but when you live on a farm you better be prepared for grunt work - or have enough money to pay somebody to do it for you. I started to realize that the only time Gilligan went out of her way to concern herself with us was when she needed help and I have my own farm chores. Lately though, she's just filled with nasty sarcastic comments. She doesn't like my dogs coming on her property and must be of the opinion that I should be walking them on a leash, which no one does around here. Everyone's dogs go an visit the surrounding neighbors and if someone's dog is being a nuisance we either call and complain or tape a note to their collar for them to take home to their owner. We have two mutts and Ray's parents have two mutts, so there's one of her gripes, we have too many dogs. Apparently the dogs know that she doesn't like them because now they just stand and bark at her when they see here, which I really get a kick out of. Our horses mingle over the fence and if anyone kicks a board or squeals at the other she's right there screaming at them to stop (a totally mundane and obnoxious practice that usually would characterize someone as crazy). Of course then I get a report from Sgt. Gilligan that so-and-so was kicking at her horse, blah blah blah. Horses don't talk (I know, shocking) the don't make much noise, instead to tell each other to piss off they kick and bite, so seeing horses kick and bite each other doesn't mean they are 'fighting'. I can't tell you how many times she has referenced the occasion that her mare got into my paddock and G was chasing her mare - like that had something to do with me or I care whatsoever (because obviously G can do no wrong in my eyes).
Okay, I'm getting side tracked here. Before Gilligan started to be so blatantly nasty to us Ray's dad got sick - we thought he was going to die sick - and I didn't have such a good job and he wasn't making any money, so I got worried about having to foot the bill for all the animals and the farm myself. At this point I didn't really have any beef with Gilligan, we were actually what I considered friendly and was I feeling sorry for her because I never saw her riding either of her two horses. G is such a gentle and friendly horse I would trust him with anyone - yeah, that's right - I trust him with anyone, not anyone with him. Ray had been riding G to get him in shape and he was behaving perfectly. One day after Gilligan had been explaining to me how she wanted another boy horse to go in with Thomas, her male and another mare to go in with her mare and it occurred to me that G would be a great horse for Gilligan. Here was a horse I knew she could ride (because even I could, and I can't ride at all) and that gets along great with all other horses, remember I said he was so gentle that we put the yearlings in with him to get weaned! I offered G to Gilligan and she eagerly accepted. At the time I thought she was taking the horse because she liked him and his story and had been chatting me up so much about rescues and wanting to rehabilitate horses, now I know different. So I dragged G over to her barn and that's where he still is today.
The Jockey Club is the governing authority over thoroughbred horse breeding. When there's money involved there also have to be rules and the Jockey Club has outlined a specific period that is suitable for breeding from February thru June. Every thoroughbred's 'birthday' is officially recognized as January 1st of the year they were born. Horses that are born earlier have a size advantage in the sale ring. The Jockey Club is cracking down on horses being born prior to the first of the year that are not reported. This year representatives came (from Kentucky) to inspect our mare Ashley because of her early breeding date of February 4th she was expected to foal early to mid January. What they are looking for in an inspection of this type is strictly that the mare is still pregnant and we are not hiding her foal. They came for the inspection on December 27th, she gave birth the morning of Janurary 1. Someone must have told her to hold out, either that or the fireworks our other neighbors were setting off New Year's eve got her upset enough to send her into labor. Hearing the fireworks, I got up at 2:00 am and went outside to check on Ashley, which I've been doing almost every night for a week before the Jockey Club came. I grabbed my flashlight and trekked out in the dark, no baby.
New Years day I kind of slept late and took my time getting out to feed the horses, don't forget that they are 24 - 7 - 365, so we're entitled to a little rest once in a while. I got out to Ashley around 8:00 am because having just checked her at two I thought I was in the clear. I got to the fence with her bucket of feed and started calling her and she just stood there looking at me and then looking at the ground. Finally I realized that she wasn't coming to me because her BABY was laying in the sand at her feet! DUH. I ran across the field to the little guy and tried to rouse him but he wouldn't get up . When you have a new foal you have to make sure they can nurse and poop, those two things I know for sure, after that you are in pretty good shape. Ashley was nickering to him to get up, something mares do to their babies to protect them from predators like me, and she was nudging him and he just wouldn't even make an attempt. So I started trying to get him up gently rubbing him, hoping that he would be scared of me and hop up, but nothing happened. I ran back to the house and told Ray the two words I knew he would understand exactly what they meant, 'Come quick'. And I left him to get dressed. He came out and the baby still Had 't gotten up which was really starting to worry me, normally they are up and down a lot and I could tell it was worrying Ashley which worried me even more. We stood, looking at him and her for several minutes and decided that he should go in and call for the vet to come out. When Ray left me with them to go use the phone I started to tear up at the thought of having to put this little angel down and Ashley and I both started rubbing him and talking to him to try to bring him into consciousness and get him up - foals are heavy by the way, so I couldn't just lift him if that's what you're thinking. I rubbed and Ashley rubbed and his breathing picked up and sat up on his belly and finally started trying to get up and I was happy to help him when he did. Believe it or not this is the most effort I've had to put into one of her foals. What people don't understand is that nature takes it's course, there are things that you can do to try to assist, but what's to be is to be. So he made his way to his feet and Ashley and I steered him in the direction of her teats where he proceeded to try to figure out what to do. We called the vet back and told her not to come, that if we thought we needed her we would call back. Ray and I do a lot of veterinary procedures ourselves, injections, worming, etc. (we save a lot of money that way too).
So we waited and we watched. We let him nap and came back and watched and waited. By mid afternoon he was up and down a lot, but we were a little bit concerned about his ability to nurse so we had the vet out just to check them both over. Our regular vet, Ted, was out of town so we called the big clinic that we used to use and they sent out the vet on call. We stopped using our vet at the clinic several years ago because we really are minimalists when it comes to veterinary treatments and they kind of tend to run up the bill on unnecessary treatments, not to say that we're depriving them, we just don't treat them excessively. Dr. Backer showed up, a twenty-something girl, with obviously not that much practical experience. I knew when she got there that she was expecting something much worse. Immediately when she got out of the van she started loading her metal tray with syringes and little bottles. Ray grabbed Ashley, sometimes the mare goes berserk when you are messing with her baby and I grabbed the baby and Dr. Backer, hands trembling proceeded to draw the blood she needed and we decided that the situation looked good enough that we would leave it at that for now.
Earlier that afternoon while we were out watching the baby, a pick up truck came down our drive, paused where the baby and mare were and drove around to us. It was the people that live across the street, mother and forty year old toothless son, who prior to today had never really spoken to us. They came to look at the baby. The son said that he'd been watching me with his binoculars (you'd have to,their house is ten acres away) and that he saw me with the feed bucket this morning and thought something was up. I had seen the father sitting on the front porch, binoculars in hand, watching me feed the horses before. One time he was looking at Ray and Ray was looking at him with his binoculars and they waved to each other - when I first told Ray they were spying on us he didn't believe me so he checked for himself. I guess now they've caught on and they must spy from inside the house. I probably don't have to tell you how appalled my husband was to hear this stranger say how he had been watching his wife. I'm thinking that hill billies in Arkansas can't be much stranger than this. When Ray heard the part about him watching me, the friendly conversation was pretty much over and we excused ourselves to go back to the baby watching.
Boy was it a long and stressful day. Finally after dinner time we were ready to sit down and relax and celebrate a little. We had two phone messages from Gilligan that day. The first went something like this 'Ray, Sara, there's a mare that had a foal and I'm not sure who's mare it is or if anyone knows that it's there or not, give me a call.' The second was from a perturbed Gilligan 'Ray, Sara, it's Gillian, CALL ME!'. The third and final message was from Miss Madeline, our old neighbor. I blew off Gilligan and had Ray call Madeline back because we don't hear from her often and she sounded funny in her message, tired, worn, I wasn't sure. Madeline still dates the gentleman on the other side of Gilligan's, our friend Lloyd, so she and Gilligan have met and Gilligan got Madeline's phone number in case there were any emergencies on Lloyd's farm. According to Miss Madeline, Gilligan called her on a rant, furious that (she thought) we hadn't had the vet out for the foal and spouting off about how she thinks that one of our horses is too thin and that she thought she should call the Humane Society. I just want you to know that I care so much for all of our animals that when I leave in the morning I actually feel guilty that I have to come to work and can't spend all day with them. Before he got off the phone I was shaking mad. In fact I told him if he didn't get of the phone I was going to walk over and knock on Gilligan's door - which probably wouldn't have been pretty and may have resulted in her suing me - I have kind of a hot temper and have this thing about fiercely defending my own. So I called Gilligan, I called her home phone, I called her cell phone and no answer. Finally I realized that it wasn't going to do me any good to make our already bad relationship worse and would only serve to temporarily make me feel better, it would never change her opinion of us. I left her a message, my voice trembling with anger, "Hi Gillian, (Ray said I called her Joanne, whatever), it's Sara, sorry it took me so long to get back to you, we've been busy all day with the foal and having the vet out, you can call me back if you need to, other than that I'll see you around." My girlfriend at work and I were discussing this the following day and her wise advice was not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had rattled my cage and she was right. The next day we moved all the horses around so that the Ashley and Happy (that's what we're calling her baby - for Happy New Year..) would be out of the lime light.
In hindsight I've realized that Gilligan took G, not because she liked him but because in her dimento mind she was rescuing him from us. As insulted as I am and as much as I hate Gilligan for the things she said about Ray and I, I'm still just happy he has a good home. Today, I feel like Gilligan's commentary is just plain silly, apparently you only get half the story when you get it thru the lenses of your binoculars.
In a nutshell, that was New Year's day. We still haven't really had a chance to celebrate the new baby, we've been so wrapped up in making sure he's got a healthy start. I'm planning to designate some time to that this weekend. My new year's resolution mainly consists of trying to maintain a positive attitude about life and our future in general and not letting things (Gilligans and the other people that don't really have anything to do with us) bother me - OH, and to play with Happy every day!
My husband went full force with Christmas spirit this year. He has never, in the seven years we've been cohabitating, contributed at all to getting ready for the holidays. This year he actually assembled the Christmas tree and put the lights on - one small step for man, one giant step for his wife. I don't mean to complain, he always gets me one gift, last year a vacuum, the year before a stepper, but this year he got me two presents and was really excited about giving them to me. I'm not sure what's gotten into him, but I think it's mostly to do with the new house.
Ray's dad was admitted to the hospital the Friday before Christmas for emergency surgery and it was touch and go as to whether he would not only make Christmas, but then whether he would make it home for Christmas. The hospital released him just in time for Christmas eve dinner and I brought over my rendition of the seven fishes (my in-laws are Italian - very Italian), which was actually just one fish dish and some shrimp - he loves my shrimp scampi. I had supplied them with a small decorated tree and while they were out I slipped their presents underneath. Christmas day Ray and I opened presents then went back to his parents' for an early dinner that we brought over - a Honey Baked ham one of my wonderful, thoughtful aunts sent me as a gift (it was really good by the way). His mother seemed, how do I put this, miserable, but that's understandable, she had her heart set on seeing their relatives in New York for Christmas like she does every year - not to mention the stress of both of their failing health. We tried to make it as nice for them as we could, I hope they enjoyed it.
This is our first home we purchased together. When we met, I just moved in with him, and luckily or not, depending who and when you ask them, he did buy the cow after having the milk for free all those years. I got an e-mail on December 31st from the realtor who sold us the house saying that the people would be all moved out this week. As of Tuesday, it is officially unoccupied and awaiting our arrival. I got the electricity transferred over and the realtor said she would go by and make sure everything was all closed up and set the thermostat so the pipes won't freeze. We can't wait to get there. More than that I can't wait to sell the land Ray owns here in Florida. With the housing market dropping off like it is, I'm a little worried about being able to sell it in a timely manner. Hopefully the fact that it is vacant land will work in our favor. After what went on last weekend with our neighbors where we live, I am putting my foot down and we are listing the land this week, period. I don't know why Ray has been procrastinating putting it on the market, I don't even think he knows why. We've been closed on the Arkansas house for almost a month now, time's a wastin'!
Ray and I met at Delaware Park (race track) one morning. He needed some help with his horses and I just so happened to be on the in-betweens, in more ways than one. I was in between jobs, in between places to live and in between relationships - lucky for him. I started working for him, hanging out with him, then eventually but not long after, started living with him too. I came to Ocala, Florida on December 31st of 1999. Very memorable for me because I grew up listening to Prince sing about 1999 like it was never going to happen and here I was starting life all over again a thousand miles away from everyone and everything I ever knew. When I got here I couldn't believe my eyes. I had spent a considerable amount of time in South Florida with a previous boyfriend, that's a whole other adventure, but Ocala was like nothing I'd ever seen before. As a girl who grew up in the burbs, only dreaming of ever having a pony I was landed smack in the middle of horse paradise. Ocala, filled with grandfather oak trees, draped in Spanish moss with one pony cuter than the last around every corner. I guess the best way I can describe it around here is that everyone has a horse in their back yard. All different breeds and disciplines. Well, with all those cute horses come a lot of crazy people.
We race horses. We breed them, break them and take them to the track to race, then if they're lucky (or nobody else wants them) we bring them home to retire. Over the seven years we have been doing business together we've gone thru at least forty different horses. Some are owned by other people that just send them to us to train and race, then when they need to, we send them back home. I've worked for lots of different trainers on the track and off and learned different methods of caring for the same animals from each of them. I've consigned horses, trained race horses, bred horses, trained them to jump and even worked in equine nutrition for about two years exclusively. Ray has been working on the racetrack since he was about sixteen. He rides and trains and now is primarily a farrier (shoer) - and a very good one, he has been recommended to people by our old veterinarian who is familiar with his work - and that says a lot. Ray and I have one mare that he bought just before he met me and we agree that her babies are his and mine together. We only breed one horse every two years and since I've known Ray he nor I have ever bought a horse. Someone did give me a horse one time, which leads me into what I've been trying to get to...
We live on about fourteen acres, there are two homes on the land, one for Ray's parents and ours, as well as a barn and a shop, etc. It's not a small understatement to say that it's nothing fancy, but it's home. My horses all have shelter and fencing and (knock on wood), we haven't killed one yet. For those people that don't know horses, they aren't the easiest keepers - or cheap either. They can come down with all kinds of ailments and injuries and have to be put down, i.e. a fellow we all know as Barbaro narrowly escaped one of those in 2006.
Ok, this being said, several years ago a client of ours sent us a champion stakes horses to our farm to recuperate from some injuries he sustained at the track. Groomstick. I'll never forget the day he got off the van. Groomstick was kind of a legend for us, another client of ours bred him, my best friend Jackie broke him and he had been around us when he was young, but never really had any interaction with him ourselves. Groomstick also has a Cinderella story that goes something like this... He was a really ugly yearling with a funny hump in his back, got shipped back and forth from sale to sale until they finally dumped him for five thousand bucks. A trainer took him to the track and it's all history from there, he made his way up the claiming ranks and won several big stake races all over the country, bringing his lifetime earnings to somewhere around half a million, not to mention he set a couple of track records. So, when he got to our house I had really been anticipating his arrival. The driver pulled up and let down the ramp, unhooked him from the tie chain and led him off the trailer and I actually had to ask him 'are you sure this is him?'. I couldn't believe that a horse that won so many races and made so much money was so little to look at. He was tall and lanky, and still had that funny hump in his back but when he looked at me with those big brown eyes I just melted. Groomstick was sound when he got off the trailer, but two weeks later the nerve block in his foot and ankle wore off and to see him walk you would have thought he had a broken leg (which he probably did have several fragments in his ankles, both of them). See horse trainers, and mark my words here, this is important, some horse trainers will inject a horse with all kinds of things to numb their pain in order to squeeze a little more performance out of them before giving them time off to recuperate - and this goes for ALL breeds and disciplines, not just racing. There are a lot of stigmas about race horses and the way they are treated and I just want people to understand that it's not the sport, it's the people. We don't believe in all that. If a horse is sore, we have a farm, so we send it home to rest up. Nothing heals injuries like time. So we went the whole winter watching Groomstick, worrying over him, wondering if he was going to be okay - to live, not even to race. This particular year I had just lost my soul mate, best friend, the only horse I ever wanted to be around in a claiming race and Groomstick was filling a little void in my heart - so I was really pulling for him. I would go out every day, two or three times a day and treat and bandage him appropriately and enjoyed every minute taking care of him because he was just so lovable. He liked his ears scratched just like the horse I had lost.
They say time heals all wounds, and for the most part I agree, but all the time in the world wouldn't get Groomstick back to the races. Two years went by and Groomstick (or G. as we now refer to him) was still at the farm. He sounded up some, enough that he wasn't living in discomfort any more and his owner called to have the vet out to take x-rays and decide whether or not he would ever get back to the races. The veterinarian deemed that he would never make the races because of his limited range of motion which was due to the calcification in his joints - from the racetrack trainer 'tapping' and injecting him so frequently. In laymen's terms his ankle joints were all dried up and the chips that were in his ankles had grown into more bone. Groomstick's owner was looking to get out of the horse business and told us to 'donate' him to a thoroughbred rescue, so that's how I wound up with him. Really, you could say that he was my first horse, the first one that I could put my name on the registration papers. I guess another two years went by and Groomstick was still around. We used him to wean the babies from their mothers, he was a great babysitter.
Living on fourteen acres, we don't have a lot of neighbors. When I moved in, Miss Madeline and her (teenage slut) daughter Lindsay were living next door. Miss Madeline, Lindsay and Ray were all friends or at very least friendly, but Madeline had been hashing out a divorce settlement with her ex and had to sell the farm. It went downhill from there. A guy bought the farm and sold it another two years later to Gillian, our neighbor now. From what I know of Gillian, she moved to Ocala from Tampa. She had a ten or twelve stall barn built on her ten acres (ten acres is not enough room for ten horses) before she moved in and when she did she brought her two horses with her. The first year was okay, her horses got loose and onto our property and we helped her catch them a couple of times, no big deal. We share a fence line - her fence, but we both have horses on our respective sides, so you can't take the fence down or neither of us would be able to use the space. Gillian is thirty eight, a lesbian and to my knowledge has no friends except for the people that she pays to do labor around her farm. FYI, I have no problem with lesbians, one of my very best friends is a huge one. I guess Gillian's been living next door for about two years now. When she first came I was very excited that a woman close to my age who was interested in horses had moved in, until I started to get to know her. Gillian, or Gilligan as we now refer to her is kind of a needy person to be living on such a big piece of property all by herself, especially since she seems to have assumed that we are the farm hands that came with the property. Maybe working in the horse business has toughened me up, but when you live on a farm you better be prepared for grunt work - or have enough money to pay somebody to do it for you. I started to realize that the only time Gilligan went out of her way to concern herself with us was when she needed help and I have my own farm chores. Lately though, she's just filled with nasty sarcastic comments. She doesn't like my dogs coming on her property and must be of the opinion that I should be walking them on a leash, which no one does around here. Everyone's dogs go an visit the surrounding neighbors and if someone's dog is being a nuisance we either call and complain or tape a note to their collar for them to take home to their owner. We have two mutts and Ray's parents have two mutts, so there's one of her gripes, we have too many dogs. Apparently the dogs know that she doesn't like them because now they just stand and bark at her when they see here, which I really get a kick out of. Our horses mingle over the fence and if anyone kicks a board or squeals at the other she's right there screaming at them to stop (a totally mundane and obnoxious practice that usually would characterize someone as crazy). Of course then I get a report from Sgt. Gilligan that so-and-so was kicking at her horse, blah blah blah. Horses don't talk (I know, shocking) the don't make much noise, instead to tell each other to piss off they kick and bite, so seeing horses kick and bite each other doesn't mean they are 'fighting'. I can't tell you how many times she has referenced the occasion that her mare got into my paddock and G was chasing her mare - like that had something to do with me or I care whatsoever (because obviously G can do no wrong in my eyes).
Okay, I'm getting side tracked here. Before Gilligan started to be so blatantly nasty to us Ray's dad got sick - we thought he was going to die sick - and I didn't have such a good job and he wasn't making any money, so I got worried about having to foot the bill for all the animals and the farm myself. At this point I didn't really have any beef with Gilligan, we were actually what I considered friendly and was I feeling sorry for her because I never saw her riding either of her two horses. G is such a gentle and friendly horse I would trust him with anyone - yeah, that's right - I trust him with anyone, not anyone with him. Ray had been riding G to get him in shape and he was behaving perfectly. One day after Gilligan had been explaining to me how she wanted another boy horse to go in with Thomas, her male and another mare to go in with her mare and it occurred to me that G would be a great horse for Gilligan. Here was a horse I knew she could ride (because even I could, and I can't ride at all) and that gets along great with all other horses, remember I said he was so gentle that we put the yearlings in with him to get weaned! I offered G to Gilligan and she eagerly accepted. At the time I thought she was taking the horse because she liked him and his story and had been chatting me up so much about rescues and wanting to rehabilitate horses, now I know different. So I dragged G over to her barn and that's where he still is today.
The Jockey Club is the governing authority over thoroughbred horse breeding. When there's money involved there also have to be rules and the Jockey Club has outlined a specific period that is suitable for breeding from February thru June. Every thoroughbred's 'birthday' is officially recognized as January 1st of the year they were born. Horses that are born earlier have a size advantage in the sale ring. The Jockey Club is cracking down on horses being born prior to the first of the year that are not reported. This year representatives came (from Kentucky) to inspect our mare Ashley because of her early breeding date of February 4th she was expected to foal early to mid January. What they are looking for in an inspection of this type is strictly that the mare is still pregnant and we are not hiding her foal. They came for the inspection on December 27th, she gave birth the morning of Janurary 1. Someone must have told her to hold out, either that or the fireworks our other neighbors were setting off New Year's eve got her upset enough to send her into labor. Hearing the fireworks, I got up at 2:00 am and went outside to check on Ashley, which I've been doing almost every night for a week before the Jockey Club came. I grabbed my flashlight and trekked out in the dark, no baby.
New Years day I kind of slept late and took my time getting out to feed the horses, don't forget that they are 24 - 7 - 365, so we're entitled to a little rest once in a while. I got out to Ashley around 8:00 am because having just checked her at two I thought I was in the clear. I got to the fence with her bucket of feed and started calling her and she just stood there looking at me and then looking at the ground. Finally I realized that she wasn't coming to me because her BABY was laying in the sand at her feet! DUH. I ran across the field to the little guy and tried to rouse him but he wouldn't get up . When you have a new foal you have to make sure they can nurse and poop, those two things I know for sure, after that you are in pretty good shape. Ashley was nickering to him to get up, something mares do to their babies to protect them from predators like me, and she was nudging him and he just wouldn't even make an attempt. So I started trying to get him up gently rubbing him, hoping that he would be scared of me and hop up, but nothing happened. I ran back to the house and told Ray the two words I knew he would understand exactly what they meant, 'Come quick'. And I left him to get dressed. He came out and the baby still Had 't gotten up which was really starting to worry me, normally they are up and down a lot and I could tell it was worrying Ashley which worried me even more. We stood, looking at him and her for several minutes and decided that he should go in and call for the vet to come out. When Ray left me with them to go use the phone I started to tear up at the thought of having to put this little angel down and Ashley and I both started rubbing him and talking to him to try to bring him into consciousness and get him up - foals are heavy by the way, so I couldn't just lift him if that's what you're thinking. I rubbed and Ashley rubbed and his breathing picked up and sat up on his belly and finally started trying to get up and I was happy to help him when he did. Believe it or not this is the most effort I've had to put into one of her foals. What people don't understand is that nature takes it's course, there are things that you can do to try to assist, but what's to be is to be. So he made his way to his feet and Ashley and I steered him in the direction of her teats where he proceeded to try to figure out what to do. We called the vet back and told her not to come, that if we thought we needed her we would call back. Ray and I do a lot of veterinary procedures ourselves, injections, worming, etc. (we save a lot of money that way too).
So we waited and we watched. We let him nap and came back and watched and waited. By mid afternoon he was up and down a lot, but we were a little bit concerned about his ability to nurse so we had the vet out just to check them both over. Our regular vet, Ted, was out of town so we called the big clinic that we used to use and they sent out the vet on call. We stopped using our vet at the clinic several years ago because we really are minimalists when it comes to veterinary treatments and they kind of tend to run up the bill on unnecessary treatments, not to say that we're depriving them, we just don't treat them excessively. Dr. Backer showed up, a twenty-something girl, with obviously not that much practical experience. I knew when she got there that she was expecting something much worse. Immediately when she got out of the van she started loading her metal tray with syringes and little bottles. Ray grabbed Ashley, sometimes the mare goes berserk when you are messing with her baby and I grabbed the baby and Dr. Backer, hands trembling proceeded to draw the blood she needed and we decided that the situation looked good enough that we would leave it at that for now.
Earlier that afternoon while we were out watching the baby, a pick up truck came down our drive, paused where the baby and mare were and drove around to us. It was the people that live across the street, mother and forty year old toothless son, who prior to today had never really spoken to us. They came to look at the baby. The son said that he'd been watching me with his binoculars (you'd have to,their house is ten acres away) and that he saw me with the feed bucket this morning and thought something was up. I had seen the father sitting on the front porch, binoculars in hand, watching me feed the horses before. One time he was looking at Ray and Ray was looking at him with his binoculars and they waved to each other - when I first told Ray they were spying on us he didn't believe me so he checked for himself. I guess now they've caught on and they must spy from inside the house. I probably don't have to tell you how appalled my husband was to hear this stranger say how he had been watching his wife. I'm thinking that hill billies in Arkansas can't be much stranger than this. When Ray heard the part about him watching me, the friendly conversation was pretty much over and we excused ourselves to go back to the baby watching.
Boy was it a long and stressful day. Finally after dinner time we were ready to sit down and relax and celebrate a little. We had two phone messages from Gilligan that day. The first went something like this 'Ray, Sara, there's a mare that had a foal and I'm not sure who's mare it is or if anyone knows that it's there or not, give me a call.' The second was from a perturbed Gilligan 'Ray, Sara, it's Gillian, CALL ME!'. The third and final message was from Miss Madeline, our old neighbor. I blew off Gilligan and had Ray call Madeline back because we don't hear from her often and she sounded funny in her message, tired, worn, I wasn't sure. Madeline still dates the gentleman on the other side of Gilligan's, our friend Lloyd, so she and Gilligan have met and Gilligan got Madeline's phone number in case there were any emergencies on Lloyd's farm. According to Miss Madeline, Gilligan called her on a rant, furious that (she thought) we hadn't had the vet out for the foal and spouting off about how she thinks that one of our horses is too thin and that she thought she should call the Humane Society. I just want you to know that I care so much for all of our animals that when I leave in the morning I actually feel guilty that I have to come to work and can't spend all day with them. Before he got off the phone I was shaking mad. In fact I told him if he didn't get of the phone I was going to walk over and knock on Gilligan's door - which probably wouldn't have been pretty and may have resulted in her suing me - I have kind of a hot temper and have this thing about fiercely defending my own. So I called Gilligan, I called her home phone, I called her cell phone and no answer. Finally I realized that it wasn't going to do me any good to make our already bad relationship worse and would only serve to temporarily make me feel better, it would never change her opinion of us. I left her a message, my voice trembling with anger, "Hi Gillian, (Ray said I called her Joanne, whatever), it's Sara, sorry it took me so long to get back to you, we've been busy all day with the foal and having the vet out, you can call me back if you need to, other than that I'll see you around." My girlfriend at work and I were discussing this the following day and her wise advice was not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had rattled my cage and she was right. The next day we moved all the horses around so that the Ashley and Happy (that's what we're calling her baby - for Happy New Year..) would be out of the lime light.
In hindsight I've realized that Gilligan took G, not because she liked him but because in her dimento mind she was rescuing him from us. As insulted as I am and as much as I hate Gilligan for the things she said about Ray and I, I'm still just happy he has a good home. Today, I feel like Gilligan's commentary is just plain silly, apparently you only get half the story when you get it thru the lenses of your binoculars.
In a nutshell, that was New Year's day. We still haven't really had a chance to celebrate the new baby, we've been so wrapped up in making sure he's got a healthy start. I'm planning to designate some time to that this weekend. My new year's resolution mainly consists of trying to maintain a positive attitude about life and our future in general and not letting things (Gilligans and the other people that don't really have anything to do with us) bother me - OH, and to play with Happy every day!
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